FicWad

Gerard doesn’t remember his dream the next morning, though it is one that has played through his subconscious mind for years. The cold sweat, sticking him to his bed sheets, is the only thing to remind him of the fires when he wakes up.

Gerard dresses quickly and pads down the stairs. Frank is still asleep on the couch, like he doesn’t know that he has his own bed now, like he hadn’t wanted to go to sleep at all. Frank doesn’t look especially peaceful or angelic in his sleep, but he looses that edge, just a little. His face is smooth but aged by desperate years and his hands are balled into loose fists, but he isn’t scowling or smoking or telling Gerard to go to hell. Gerard’s grateful for that, at least.

He feels guilty then, for loving his housemate so much more when he’s unconscious. It’s not his fault; Frank’s such a pain when he’s awake.

Gerard’s still in an odd mood from the night before, he can feel bad vibes clinging to his skin and worries nagging at his brain as he pulls out his notebook from its place in the drawer. He flicks through a couple of pages, filled with his spidery black scrawl and vampire doodles that he always does his best to scribble out-- it simply won’t do to have a Priest obsessed with chibi un-dead demons— and onto a clean page. The naked lines tearing his focus away from Frank and his moods and all the things in the world that he just can’t fix. The pen is familiar in his hand and he starts scribbling in black ink all the things he should forget.

If his Lord can prevent him from touching for just one more day then maybe he will sleep well tonight.

Gerard is still scratching away at his notebook when Frank’s senses begin to surface. The sound of pen on paper and small sighs drawing him back to his conscious mind. There’s dribble hanging from his chin and his flesh sticks to the plastic of the couch. He’s still too hot.

He lays there for a while, not wiping his face or peeling away his skin, just taking in Gerard’s profile; the point of his nose, the shell of his ear, it’s all so familiar. Safe, his mind supplies. The desire to reach out and touch is just as familiar but these feelings don’t supply the same safety net. They stick though, like an itch in the back of his skull.

Gerard looks over then, his mouth slightly undone; like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t. Though, Frank knows that’s impossible, Gerard would never do something against his god.

Frank still hopes though, sometimes, when he’s awake at night and listening to the rosary beads clicking. Gerard’s too good, Frank just wants to break him, turn him upside down and inside out, show him the madder part of life. He likes to think then about the other sounds Gerard could be making, tucked away in his little box room, embarrassed and sinning in front of his Virgin Mary.

These thoughts only make Frank hate Gerard more. How is he supposed to tolerate him when that blush is so innocent? Frank has probably just caught him putting shrimp on his shopping list.

“Morning Frank,” he greets.

At least he isn’t in his uniform, at least he looks normal.

“Do we have coffee?” Frank asks.

“Only De-Café.”

Frank heaves a sigh with great effort and forces himself off the couch. God forbid him to have any cheap pleasure in this house.

“You going out today?” Gerard’s voice drifts through to the kitchen.

“Meeting Ray,” Frank says, “maybe Bob.”

“Oh,” Gerard pauses on his way into the small kitchen, he’s frowning a little, like he wants to object, Frank wants him to. “Okay.”

Frank never asks if Gerard is doing anything, he’s always doing something (“maybe some cleaning” “Oh there’s a kid I need to talk to” “There’s a bake sale at the church”) Frank wishes Gerard would rest up a little, even on Sundays he’s a busy body.

Frank scratches at the back of his neck his skins too tight again, suffocating him, he’s drowning in it.

Gerard wishes Frank would do more; get out, find a job, help someone out, but Frank’s not interested (“Stop bugging me already, I’ll do it when I do it” “I don’t need a job, I have you”).

Frank doesn’t get changed before leaving the house, much to Gerard’s disgust, he simply pops a piece of gum into his mouth and snaps it a few times before exiting through the front door. Gerard finds himself staring for a moment, his eyes tracing the path Frank took across the house, like some of the heat from his fever trailing behind him.

It’s funny, when Frank first moved in, Gerard couldn’t stand the sight of him, let alone his company. Frank had a very special and particular way of chewing through Gerard’s nerves. Like a hamster on a live wire, the boy is like a rodent, vermin.

That was when the dreams started; all fire and lost memories, they left Gerard catching his breath, trying to take all the oxygen before the flames got to it.

-

“I’m not gay.” Frank says, for what must be the fifth time this morning.

“No, you’re just in love with your priest land lord, totally hetro.” Bob says with a grin.

And so, they’ve been having this conversation now for at least half an hour already. Frank isn’t budging. He’s not gay, Okay? He tried that whole scene back in collage and just no. He likes chicks, he likes girls and boobs. Girls with big eyes and soft hands and all the rest of it. The thing for Gerard, whatever it is, it’s not a gay thing. And he isn’t in love, furthermore.

“I’m not in love.” Frank says.

Ray hmms across the table, picking at his potato waffle, “I don’t know, man that’s kind of a double negative.”

It’s not a double negative but getting into arguments about grammar with Toro is a big no-no. Besides, they’re wrong. Frank maybe, kind of, totally, does have a thing for his priest land lord but he just can’t call it love, most of the time, in fact, Frank would go as far as to say he hates Gerard with a burning fury. So it’s not love, it’s not even physical attraction, sometimes, when Frank looks at Gerard, it’s like an ice-cold slither down his back, cutting across his shoulder blades, slicing him in two. Frequently, the brush of Gerard’s hand is enough to make him want to run and hide and maybe cry or sleep for days.

So Ray and Bob are wrong and Frank so doesn’t even have to argue with them. And yet, they persist.

“He is hot though.” Bob notes, stealing one of Ray’s cherry tomatoes.

“He’s not.”

“He kind of is.” Ray says, like his gay fairy godmother or something.

Fucking Ray and fucking Bob.

“No, he’s not,” Frank insists, spearing his pancake, “He’s weird.”

“Weird can be hot.” Bob shrugs.

“Yeah, I’d do weird.”

“You’d do anything with a pulse, Toro.”

Ray had kind of been a man slut before he met Bob. He’s a good guy, sure, as long as you weren’t planning on having any kind of relationship with him outside of the bedroom. He had, what Frank calls, a short attention span. It was someone different every night; no one was allowed to stick around. No one until Bob, at least. Frank still isn’t sure just how that happened, but they’re like a thing. Which is fine, Bob’s cool, but Frank’s still a little confused.

Ray laughs and swats away Bob’s hand when he tries to steal more food from his plate. Ray might be an asshole fairy godmother, but at least he’s cool with Frank’s jokes.

“It’s just,” Frank leans forward, resting his inked elbows on the sticky table, “It’s like weird, really weird. One moment I’m just about ready to roll over for him and like drink his bathwater, like no exaggeration, and the next it’s as if I come back to earth and all of a sudden I’m insulting and mocking him and mentally threatening him with pepper spray. It’s stupid anyway, he’s a priest.”

Ray and Bob don’t say much about that, they just pull the corners of their lips down like upside-down smiles and nod as if contemplating Frank’s fate.

Frank shrugs and sticks a few fives on the tray, “Anyway,” he says, “I gotta bounce, his highness demands I find a job, something about fulfilling my potential.” Frank sniggers and leaves the diner.

Fucking Ray and fucking Bob and fuckingGerard.

When the dreams first started, Gerard had prayed a lot both for him and for Frank and for his nervous system. He had wanted to like Frank, he had welcomed him into his home, this lost soul into his family and his world. And he couldn’t take it.

Gerard didn’t understand how Mikey could be friends with this man, whilst Gerard feared going home, where god forbid, he bumped into Frank on the way to his study. But then Frank had lost his job (once again) and Gerard had come home to him brooding miserably on the couch. And Oh he had thought Oh. And that had been that, Gerard had sworn to help Frank, to return him to the light, to help him back on his feet.

But that was where the trouble started, for this new light Gerard was seeing Frank in, was the soft flickering glow of a candle.

On the whole, job searching for Frank is a very idol activity. Normally, he scans a few shops, maybe asks around in a few bars and cafes, dips into the mall to check out Forever 21 or Emporium, before he heads home. Today should have been the same, except now Frank is standing waiting for some lady in a bar because he made the mistake of pushing into a pub with a “Help Wanted” sign. Somehow, he had missed it on the way in.

The girl, woman, at the counter is grinning at him like a relived pixie on carnival night. She’s kind of hot in a non-traditional way; she looks sort of French with her olive eyes and spikey bob. She’s shorter than Frank too. He name tag reads; “Jamia”

“This is so great” She says, like it really is great that some tattooed, sarcastic asshole just came in, scaring away the customers and glaring. “I’ll get your CV checked out, but I’m sure you’ll be a great fit.”

Frank makes a grumpy, noncommittal noise in the back of his throat, but doesn’t object. The girl is cute, maybe working with her wont be so bad. She’ll be a distraction to Gerard, at least. Maybe.

“You’re a life saver, Frank Iero,” she reads his name from the CV, Gerard typed up for him, on the bar, “I was sure no one would want to take the job.”

Frank frowns at this, that doesn’t sound like the most promising thing to hear from your future employer.

“Any why’s that?” he asks, his voice a little husky, possibly threatening.

Jamia doesn’t flinch. “This place isn’t exactly Bellville’s favourite pub, you know? Not since...” she trails off and looks thoughtful for a second, a little sadness clinging to her eyes. Then she grins sharply at him and shrugs like that wasn’t totally the most ominous thing Frank has heard all week.

Whatever, if anything weird happens he can quit, at least now he has Gerard off his back for a little while.